


Deine Größe Macht Mich Klein

by farevenasdecidedtouse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Flogging, M/M, Mild Blood, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse/pseuds/farevenasdecidedtouse
Summary: Blackwall still feels guilty. Bull decides to do something about it.





	Deine Größe Macht Mich Klein

“Blackwall? Are you in there?” Odette Trevelyan’s voice sounded from the open stable door where she stood, flanked by Sera and Iron Bull. The slight softening of her normally crisp mage’s pronunciation suggested their having come from the tavern. “We’re heading for the Emprise at the first bell. Could you see that Dennet has the horses saddled and ready slightly before?”  
  
“Yes. Of course.” Blackwall glanced over, avoiding anyone’s eyes.  
  
Odette hovered in the doorway a moment too long, said a moment too late, “We missed you at the tavern this evening. You should drink with us next time.”  
  
“I should. I will,” Blackwall said. Odette smiled, her usual warm, comfortable grin tinged with relief, and turned to leave, staggering only slightly from a well-aimed slap across her backside courtesy of Sera. Out of the corner of his eye, Blackwall could see Iron Bull lingering just inside the door.  
  
“She’s forgiven you. Absolved you, even. And you’re still punishing yourself,” Bull said. Blackwall could have sworn that the baled straw near his head shivered with the low rumble of his voice.  
  
“It’s no concern of yours,” Blackwall replied, barely avoiding a smile of victory at the hardening of Bull’s posture.  
  
A step toward him, then another. “We’re companions. Comrades. Brothers in arms, whatever. It’s my concern whether you like it or not.”  
  
“I left you to yourself when you betrayed your people. Do me the same kindness,” Blackwall said, voice a hostile growl foreign to even his own ears.  
  
With speed that belied the Iron Bull’s bulk and stature alike, Blackwall found himself backed against the far wall of the barn, Bull looming over him with horns nearly scoring the underside of the loft above them. No anger blazed in his eyes, but something at once harsher and tenderer. “You think she was too merciful. You want to be punished, and not just by your own thoughts. For someone to break you down, make you small.”  
  
“I don’t—Get away from me, you fucking lunatic!” Blackwall grated. A glance around for some way, any way, past the wall of qunari blocking the barn door revealed nothing. He squared his shoulders, determined not to shrink back.  
  
“I could break you. Shatter you in ways you had never dreamed of. With pain, obviously, but with pleasure, too. The kind of reward you could grasp at with every part of yourself and find your release in the denial of it.” Bull’s voice was deep and deceptively soft. “That’s what you want. You, screaming for it under every strike, still not getting what you haven’t _earned_.” The last word, half growl and half purr, set Blackwall’s heart pounding in his ears. A treacherous flicker of lust shivered through his belly.  
  
“I could bind you hand and foot, work you over with one of those lashes from the old dungeons until you were sobbing into your gag, pleading for me to stop. Or to go on; not like it’d matter to me. Or I could use my hands. Just bend you over my knee like a naughty boy and spank your ass raw, make you beg for every stroke before I gave it.” Bull was close enough for Blackwall to smell the beer on his breath, watch the flex of huge muscles under black-stained skin. “And you _would_ beg. You would take all the punishment you deserved, let me use you like the tool you let yourself be when you murdered innocents for your lord. Let me mark you and breach you and defile you just how you need it. How you want it.”  
  
The dim barn was too bright, the air too close. Blackwall felt his breath coming in shallow gasps, unable to tear his eyes from Bull’s and at an utter loss for words. Both held their ground until Bull turned away with a dismissive grunt, swinging his horns under the narrow lip of the loft. “If you change your mind, my door’s unlocked,” he said, striding out of the stable.

***

For Blackwall, the Emprise du Leon passed in a blur of blood red on ice blue. He and Iron Bull hacked through demons and red Templars side-by-side while hardly exchanging three words in as many weeks. No one commented if they noticed—even Cole seemed too tactful or unwilling to voice the thoughts that thrummed in Blackwall’s mind like a plucked harp string and consumed his waking hours. Some nights he crouched on watch, shivering, by the fire, stealing tense glances at Bull’s tent that he denied even to himself. Others, wavering on the edge of sleep, his racing thoughts led him again and again to Bull’s voice in his ears and hands on him until he jolted back from the brink of the dream, heart racing and cock hard. He was undone, he knew, as surely as though Bull had claimed him that night in the stables.  
  
Their triumphant return to Skyhold was followed by Odette’s mandated day of rest following an extended period in the field. Following an evening of distracted, half-hearted carousing that he doubted had fooled Odette or anyone else, Blackwall awoke to late afternoon sunlight slanting past the rafters of the barn and knew. It was now or perhaps never. Moments later he was striding toward the Herald’s Rest, then pushing open the door to see Iron Bull’s usual chair vacant. With a deep breath, he made his way as cavalierly as possible past chatting patrons and up the stairs to knock on the door he’d seen Bull disappear into the night before.  
  
The door swung open and Blackwall was torn between relief and chagrin at the lack of surprise on Bull’s face. “C’mon in,” he said after a single glance. The room was small and surprisingly tidy save for a few items of clothing thrown over chairs and the unmade bed that occupied most of the floor space, putting a number of other rooms with their straw-stuffed mattresses to shame. A pair of iron shackles dangled from the bare beams of the ceiling and Blackwall suppressed a shudder at the sight.  
  
Bull’s eye met Blackwall’s. “Changed your mind after all, huh?” Blackwall nodded, not trusting his voice.  
  
“If you really can’t take any more, say ‘katoh’ and I’ll stop, right then and there. Two syllables. Ka. Toh. Can you remember that?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“I won’t stop for anything else you say. Beg as much as you want, anything short of that and you’re not getting off lightly. Got it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good. Take your shirt off and stand over there by the bed.” With a strength that Blackwall would have struggled to match let alone overcome, Bull’s hands were on his wrists, raising them to fasten them within the hanging shackles. Ankle shackles followed, these attached to a foot-long wooden bar that left Blackwall’s legs spread far enough apart to leave him exposed, though stopping just short of physical discomfort. He took a long, slow breath, unspoken words lingering in the air for a long moment as he felt Bull take stock of his helpless state.  
  
“What is it that you want, Blackwall?” Bull asked from behind him. He willed himself to swallow around the bolus of pain that swelled in his throat, saying nothing.  
  
“I can’t grant you this if you don’t tell me.”Strands of what felt like braided leather trailed softly over his back, and Blackwall couldn’t suppress a groan.

“I want you to punish me,” he said through gritted teeth.  
  
The first blow of the scourge tore a ragged cry from Blackwall’s aching throat. Polished metal dug into the base of his palms with his flinch away from the pain. “Why do you want me to punish you?” Bull asked.  
  
Blackwall’s chest heaved. “Because I’m a murderer and a liar. You know—“

The second blow caught him less off guard but the pain of the new welts blended with the first, fire licking over fresh tinder, to wrench another half-sob from him. “Don’t presume to tell me what I know,” Bull said, voice level as ever. “The Inquisitor has pardoned you on behalf of the Inquisition you’ve sworn yourself to. Is that not enough for you?”

“Obviously not,” Blackwall said, following a long moment of anticipation.

“Do her orders carry less weight than the word of the lord you slaughtered children for?”

Blackwall twisted his head sharply to glare at Bull over his shoulder. “Maker damn you, you fucking traitor,” he growled, voice near breaking.

The lash sparked a fiery pain across his back once more. “Answer. You’re a risk to all of us as long as you keep acting like this. Why do you reject—“

“You bloody well know why!” Blackwall winced, waiting for another blow at the presumption of the outburst, but none came. “I never asked for her forgiveness because I never deserved it. I should be rotting in the dungeons of Val Royeaux awaiting sentence. I should have died with Blackwall himself. Anything but this.”

Two more blows this time, one high across the raised weals over his shoulder blades and one across his arse and thighs that set the skin under his trousers smarting worse than his bare back and shoulders. Blackwall’s breath hissed through his teeth.

“In that case you can add ‘selfish asshole’ to that list of charges.” Blackwall’s protest was consumed by a sound closer to a scream than a shout with a stroke across his calves, another raising new welts over his thighs. “Any cowardly idiot can die and end his pain for good. It takes someone braver to live down his mistakes by making good on them.” Back a map of fire, Blackwall gasped for breath. He could feel Bull’s proximity behind him, a touch of breath on his neck, the warmth of skin flushed with anticipation. “That’s what this is for. You’ve punished yourself for the murders since day one; you don’t need me for that. Obviously you’re a liar, but now the truth’s out and Odette’s forgiven you for that, too. This is for you acting like a dead man walking, like your being dead would do us any good when we still need you. And you’re going to take it, and love it, because this is just what _you_ need.”

The promise in Bull’s words coupled with the cleansing, singing pain that rippled over his back in blood red waves left Blackwall slumped in his chains, chest heaving and rigid cock straining against his trousers. Again and again the scourge fell, each bite of the leather strands rippling a new wave of agonizing pleasure through him, bringing tears to his eyes and making every breath an exercise in pain that ended in a choked moan. Bull’s words were faster now, resonating with an intensity that Blackwall could feel as much as the lash with every blow. “That’s where the guilt lies too, isn’t it? It turns you on, being stuck like this, at my mercy. It’s all mixed up in your head with the shame and the anger until it’s all you can think about. Being despoiled and conquered, just like you deserve, until the pain’s gone.”

The scourge was suddenly gone and Bull’s hands were on the chains above his head once again. Blackwall felt one of the cuffs click open and slumped forward gratefully, half-supported by Bull’s huge hands on his upper arms in a strange facsimile of a lovers’ embrace. “Bend over the footboard,” Bull said, and Blackwall steadied himself against the carved wood. Another click and he was chained once again, doubled over across the bed with legs still forcibly spread and hands clutching the footboard in a death grip.

“Is this what you want, Blackwall?” Crouched over him, Bull’s voice was a nearly subaudible rumble in his ear.

Blackwall moaned at the sound of his name on Bull’s lips. “Finish it,” he said, words trailing off into a shuddering moan as Bull moved closer, the huge, obscene length of his cock pressing against the cleft of Blackwall’s arse.

Barely supporting himself on trembling arms and legs, Blackwall felt one of Bull’s huge hands trail over his chest, brushing through its dusting of coarse black hair and lower until thick fingers curved around the throbbing swell of his cock through his trousers. “No. Ask me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I don’t—I can’t—“ The ensuing strike of the scourge across his legs jerked a frantic cry from his throat and nearly caused him to pitch forward face-first onto the bed.

“You came here to be debased.” Blackwall’s hopes surged for a moment as Bull’s hands were at the fastenings of his trousers, easing them as far down his legs as the bar spreading them would allow. No further touch came and he shifted his weight foot to foot, suppressing an exhalation far too close to a whimper of need. “Tell me how to debase you.”

“Damn you.”

Many-stranded lightning flared across his lower back and Blackwall bit his lip hard, determined not to alarm the tavern patrons below any more than they no doubt already were. “Tell me what you’ve wanted. How much you’ve wanted it. In the end it’s usually easier than you think.”

Stars swam before Blackwall’s eyes. He had been close before, but Bull’s maddening, studied control had him wondering how he hadn’t already spilled his seed untouched. “Take me. Fuck me,” he managed, barely hearing his own voice over the tidal roar of his pulse.

A truncated rustle of movement behind him suggested that Bull had paused mid-swing. “Do you deserve that?”

“I deserve nothing _but_ that.” To his shame, for the first time since entering the room Blackwall’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “You had the right of it that night in the stables. Use me like the whore I’ve always played for whoever I’m sworn to. I’ll beg if I have to. Please, Bull.” Tears hot with humiliation and need traced the contours of his face like caresses, pooling in his beard and blurring his already dim view of the bed.

The single, calloused finger, slick and slightly warm with something, that Blackwall felt pressed against his hole very nearly undid him. As Bull slid it in to the hilt, crooking it gently, it was all Blackwall could do to focus on ragged breath after ragged breath, even now denying himself the promised release. A second finger joined the first and Blackwall’s knuckles whitened on the footboard beneath his hands. “Yeah, that’s right. Just what you need,” Bull murmured, voice like velvet on steel in Blackwall’s ears. “All opened up and ready to take my cock. I’m going to fuck you until it hurts, and you’ll thank me for it and beg me for more. Because you. Are. _Mine_.”

The fingers splayed wide inside him, spreading his hole further open still, and Blackwall held back a shuddering moan as the head of Bull’s prick brushed between them. It felt hot enough to burn, the head alone bigger than anything he’d ever dreamed of taking into himself, but with a grunt and a slow withdrawal of his fingers Bull thrust into him, past some inner barrier the parting of which drew a low sound of fire-fused pain and pleasure from Blackwall’s mouth. Slowly, inexorably, Bull’s cock entered him, Bull adjusting the angle of his entry with Blackwall’s every flinch before setting a hard and quickening pace that left Blackwall gasping with every stroke. The pain was undeniable, resonating through him in ragged shocks that left him a sobbing wreck supported only by the bed and Bull’s hands grasping his hips. Yet the fire of want that had blazed in him since the Emprise fed on it, mingling it with the sensation of the huge cock breaching him, brushing a mind-blankingly wonderful spot deep inside him until Blackwall knew that he might spend himself at the gentlest touch of his swollen, throbbing prick. Bull’s hips snapped forward again and again to strike his arse as surely as the scourge before them, re-inflaming the ruddy lines of wounded flesh there, the heavy weight of his balls slapping against Blackwall’s thighs. The growing pressure of the fingers squeezing his hips suggested that Bull was nearly as close as he was.

“Beg me,” Bull growled, hand tightening on Blackwall’s inner thigh close enough to his aching prick to make him moan. “Beg for me to finish inside you. Fill you with my come like a whore.”

“Please.” Through the tears still flowing down his face, through the overtaxation of all his senses, Blackwall found his voice. “Please. Use me as I deserve.”

A twitch, another twitch, and Bull’s face was buried in Blackwall’s shoulder, hot breath and incoherently gasped phrases muffled by Blackwall’s sweat-dampened hair. Spurts powerful enough for Blackwall to feel the spray of them inside himself wracked the Qunari’s vast body with shudders that left him near as panting and incoherent as Blackwall. The rough base of one horn scraped the side of Blackwall’s face deep enough to bead his face with blood but the pain was lost in a pulse of flame as one sword-calloused hand grasped his cock.

The world narrowed to a single point of contact and the wave was on him and he was coming in and over Bull’s hand in long, wrenching jerks that left him too breathless to even cry out. Hot shudders of release that bordered on pain flowed through him again and again even as Bull’s still-hard cock spasmed inside him with aftershock upon aftershock. Vision darkening around the edges, Blackwall slumped forward onto the bed only to be eased up once again as Bull set about removing the chains from his wrists and ankles. “There you go. You’re fine. Just lie down a minute and catch your breath,” Blackwall heard as if at a great distance, hardly able to process the words past the lingering tremors of his climax and the aching, blessed emptiness of his mind and heart.

His eyes flickered open on an expanse of grey skin and a curve of horn dimly illuminated by a burning oil lamp. “When…” Blackwall croaked, easing himself into a sitting position. Belatedly, he registered his lack of clothes and hastily drew a tangle of blankets into his lap.

Iron Bull turned to face him from the other side of the bed where he lay, chuckling at Blackwall’s modesty. “You’ve been out for a couple hours and I didn’t want to wake you. Need some water or anything?” He held forward a wooden mug and Blackwall drank deeply, the cool taste of Skyhold’s artesian springs mixed with the brine and blood dried on his lips.

“You’re welcome to stay here. They’ve all learned to shut up about who comes out of my room in the morning,” Iron Bull said with a jerk of his head toward the tavern floor below. “I mean, you can go back to the stables if you want, but at least let me take a look at your back first. Sleeping on a dirty floor with those is just begging for something you’ll have to see the surgeon about.”

The concern on Bull’s face in the flickering light silenced the dissenting voices in Blackwall’s head once again, and he eased himself back, pulling the bedclothes over his waist. “I’m not in much condition to be going anywhere,” he said, wincing as he sank back down onto the mattress.

“Sure. Lie on your stomach a minute, I have some salve that’ll help the marks.” Too spent to exercise anything but obedience, Blackwall divested himself of the covers. A moment later and Bull’s hands were on him once again, coating the burning stripes of flesh on his legs, arse and back with something that burned momentarily cold before dissolving into a cool numbness that masked the worst of the sting. Blackwall murmured something unintelligible into the pillow.

“Sorry, what?” Bull asked.

Blackwall swallowed hard, pride and shame alike forced away. “Thank you for this.”

Iron Bull pressed a kiss to the back of Blackwall’s neck with a tenderness both strange and more right than anything Blackwall might have imagined. “You’re welcome.”


End file.
